


Riverbank

by itsleese



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blood Play, Confusion, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy AU, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Little Shit, Memory Loss, Mildly Dubious Consent, Spirit World, Yandere Kuroo, if i missed a tag please message me!, marking/biting, nekomata!Kuroo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25792462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsleese/pseuds/itsleese
Summary: You reluctantly come back to your hometown for your grandmother's funeral. You're reminded of the little boy you loved way back then, the riverbank you played at together. Maybe you should go see it?
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 307





	Riverbank

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ever_enthralled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ever_enthralled/gifts), [AnastasiaNoelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnastasiaNoelle/gifts), [partyhatstrider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/partyhatstrider/gifts).



> This is a collab piece for the Pleasant & Strider Present: Fantasy AU Writing Collab, hosted by the three wonderful writers this work is gifted to! Check out my tumblr for the masterlist of amazing works!

A full-bodied cringe shakes your soul as your heel sinks into mud. Great, just _great_. You quickly throw a glance over your shoulder at the accumulation of guests in your grandmother’s house—a sea of solemn black bodies paying their respects to her.

You yank your foot from the doughy ground and cross your arms.

God, it’s only been a couple of days, and you miss Tokyo; the hustle and bustle of the big city, getting lost in the bodies, remaining another office worker commuting to and from work during the week, another OL out with her friends for drinks on the weekends. Living the good big-city life.

As soon as you stepped off the train here, you were recognised, sympathies thrown at you, “Haven’t seen you since you were this big!” and “Found a good man yet?” and “Here’s big city girl, blessing us with her presence.”

You take a deep breath and look around the backyard. It’s so green, so lush. There’s no fence, no other houses for as far as the eye can see, just trees. A rainforest. You remember playing here as a kid with your cousins; running through the trees, catching frogs and bugs, getting covered in mud.

You remember a river—a beautiful thing with cool, clear water and boulders and a tree swing— and there’s a pull in your chest that begs you to go _see_ , but a glance down at your Gianvito Rossi’s has you shaking your head, giving the thick mass of trees one last look before heading back inside.

-

It’s sad, really.

Your grandmother was a difficult woman, and being with your parents again brings about it’s own challenges. Your little sister—a teacher at the school here in your home town—is the apple of their eye, already engaged to her childhood sweetheart, a goddamn firefighter. A hero, because of course she’s marrying a hero.

How can you and your tiny open-plan apartment and ever-growing shoe collection compare to that?

“Start on the vegetables, please.” Your mother orders softly, nodding towards the chopping board. “They’re in the basket by the fridge.” You just nod, grab the basket and haul it up onto the counter, set to work unloading them.

You see your sister out of the corner of your eye slicing meat, head down, bum up, like the good little girl she’s always been.

Just as you’re about to slice into a mushroom, your name rings through the kitchen, loud and piercing. Your mother is glaring at you, eyes hard. “They need to be _washed_ first.” She says coldly, jerking her chin towards the sink.

“Right, sorry.” You say quietly, clamping your teeth down on your bottom lip to stop it quivering.

Your sister catches your eye and you briefly share a look, before you both set back to work on your tasks.

-

“She’s asleep, don’t worry.” Your sister says, tea cup held between her hands, lips gently blowing away the steam.

“It’s ten-thirty, I’d hope so.” You mumble, a little annoyed.

Everyone’s gone except immediate family. A couple of aunts, uncles, and cousins are in various rooms settling in for the night, but other than that, the place is dead.

“She’s still so hard on you.” She muses, eyes like yours staring over at you from the sink her lower back is resting against. You sigh, open the fridge and pull out the orange juice. “What?” She chuckles gently, brows shooting up. “She is.”

You pour a glass half full, and put it back into the fridge. “If I were more like you, she wouldn’t have a problem with me.”

“Oh, stop it—”

“No, because it’s true.”

“It’s not—”

“I was supposed to marry Daichi, was supposed to stay here, and inherit this house.” You sigh, leaning down to dip a hand into your purse, pull out a small silver flask.

“He still asks about you. He’s Asahi’s best friend. And a policeman.” She explains as you scoff, pour a little too much vodka into the glass.

“A cop? Wow, that’s why she’s so pissed at me.” You say a little too loudly. Your sister doesn’t scold you; she’s never been the type. Doesn’t even bring up the flask as you recap it and slip it back into your purse.

“She just wants you _here_.” She says, brows tenting. Sadness covers her features, but she blinks it away, takes a long sip from her mug.

You don’t want to push the subject; you’ll end up arguing all day. “Do you,” you start, eyes travelling past your sister, out the window and into the vast darkness of the night. “Remember the river? Or was it a stream?”

She turns, follows your field of vision, a brilliant smile on her face. “Of course! We used to go frog catching with the neighbour’s kid.”

“Neighbour’s kid?” You tilt your head, eyes flickering back to her. “What kid?”

“Oh!” She gasps, tapping her foot and looking up to the ceiling, as if that would help her remember the name. “He was from the city… Only visited sometimes! His parents were split up.”

A flash of yellow lights up your mind’s eye, and your heart pulls heavily. “Kuroo.” You frown, voice soft as you look over to your sister.

“Yes! Kuroo!” She laughs, tone still hushed. “He was sweet, wasn’t he? Especially sweet on you, though.”

For some reason, you blush, feeling the heat run up your neck, wrap around your ears and blast across your face. “He didn’t—”

“He did, oh, Daichi was so jealous when you went with him to the summer festival. I remember.” She gushes, eyes twinkling with delight.

“I… Honestly, don’t remember.” You sigh, disappointed.

She must’ve finished her tea, because she turns to rinse the mug, and sends you a gleeful look over her shoulder. “Don’t remember when he carved your name into the swing tree by the river? Surrounded it in a heart?”

You rack your brain, but there’s nothing. Just those bright golden eyes.

Almost like a cat’s.

“I’m gonna hit the hay; see you in the morning.” She smiles, pats you on the shoulder as she passes—when did she get _taller_ than you? “Don’t drink too much, okay?”

-

There’s a Shinto priest the third day, and your mother is extra _motherly_.

Daichi comes for the service with one of your sister’s classmates, and it puts mother dearest in her foulest mood yet. You can see the steam coming out of her ears.

After the memorial service she pulls you aside, into the bedroom she’s sharing with your father for the time being, two rooms away from the living and dining, where everyone is enjoying dinner.

“It should be _you_.” She scolds, hysterical, beside herself with grief at the loss of her mother, at the loss of _you_ , and all you could’ve been. “It should be you! You should be here! This is your house! She loved you the most!”

Ten minutes later, you excuse yourself. You briefly meet Daichi’s eyes, before heading to the backyard. You kick off your heels, that pull in your chest so strong and _raw_ , you’re practically pushing through the backyard to get to the forest, to get to the river.

Is that tree still there? Would your name be there in Kuroo’s scrawl?

Yellow eyes—older, more narrow—flash in your brain, and you push past the first couple of trees and glance around, eyes travelling an overgrown downward slope. Trees and sticks and grass as high as your hip, the sky darkening, and barely visible through the canopy.

How did you do this when you were _seven_?

You hesitate. _One_ , because you’re a mid-twenties office lady with no shoes and a midi dress; and _two_ , because this all seems both very stupid and very dangerous.

A look over your shoulder at the house has you shaking your head and reaching for a tree branch, holding on as you step deeper into the shrub, ears pricked for sounds as you slowly—so, _so_ slowly—traverse the forest downwards, inch by painstaking inch.

You pick up speed when you hear the stream, confidence a dangerous catalyst.

One wrong step has you rolling your ankle on a stone, all grip on any tree branch loosening as the pain rockets up your leg; then you’re slamming into the dirt and rocks, the sound of rapids disturbingly close as your vision goes black, and your consciousness fades away.

-

It’s warm.

It’s warm, and you can hear a fire crackling, feel warmth cocooning you like a blanket. There’s a smell, too. Something hearty and rich, and—

Your stomach rumbles.

You groan and crack an eye open. Your head aches as you blink your eyes open, rub sleep from them. Wooden beams hold up the roof overhead, and as you sit up a sudden panic floods you: you don’t know _where_ you are.

It’s a log cabin, a nice one, and you’re covered in furs of browns and greys, black and white, knitted blankets in reds and yellows and pinks and greens. There’s a pot in the fire, but it’s dark otherwise, large windows covered with thick fabrics—tapestries. Cats mostly. The one above you has a large black one with two tails and glowing yellow eyes; it sits in front of what looks to be a shrine, those eyes staring into your soul—

“Well, well, well,” a voice, teasing and deep, draws through the cabin. “The princess rises.”

Then you see him. Tall, broad, ink-black hair; a grin paints his face, and his _eyes_ —

Your heart swells, and something deep in your gut has his name leaving your lips. “Kuroo?” He's so different, so... _grown_. Large and broad in dark harem pants and a white sleeveless tee, arms thick and muscled like he built this cabin himself. 

Something akin to tenderness has his grin morphing into a smile, his eyes softening. “Ah, didn’t think you’d remember me, big city girl.” He sits by you on the bed and touches your hand tenderly.

And just like that, the memories come flooding back.

The two of you building a raft—that fails, miserably—the pair of you falling into the water as your sister watches on in horror.

Holding his hand—and Daichi’s—as you traverse the slippery mossy rocks at the mouth of the river.

Him scratching your name into the tree as you watch on in irritation and embarrassment, protesting despite the flutter of your heart.

Watching the fireworks with him at the summer festival, folding your arms so he can’t get a grip on your hand. Refusing his kiss. He laughs each time you ignore him, and he throws an arm over your shoulder that you don’t quite shrug off.

“How is it?” He asks, pulling you out of your daze and turning his attention to the other end of the bed. He lifts the knitted blankets and the pelts to get a look at your ankle.

Is it supposed to be sore?

“Oh, i-it feels fine, actually.” Still, his large hand gently touches it, eyes falling back on your face, gauging your reaction.

But nothing.

“No kidding?” His brows shoot up, smile widens. “Good to see you’re still strong.” He says chuckling as he covers your foot back up. “Should still rest some, though. Just to be on the safe side.” He gets up, heads over to the pot on the fire, pulls the lid off to give it a stir.

The aroma has your stomach grumbling again. More loudly this time. You pull one of the blankets up to your chin in embarrassment when he shoots you a cheeky smile. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s a complement. You outta be hungry.” Then he’s moving to the far side of the cabin, a little kitchen tucked into the corner.

Another glance around has you relaxing back into the bed.

It’s so… homely. From the tapestries on the walls, to the woven rugs on the floors. There’s something incredibly old and dated about the place, but it’s so clean and comfortable.

And Kuroo lives here?

“Kuroo?” Your voice is so small, so… delicate, but he turns to face you immediately, eyes on you, brows shooting up in inquisition. “Did you move back here? From Tokyo?”

His smile slowly grows again, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. “You could say that.” He says, taking a bowl to the pot, scooping some of his stew into it. “I live here now, though. This is my home.”

“I never got to come here as a kid. Is your dad here, too?” You stretch your arms out, try and fix the mess you’ve probably made of your hair. He makes a sound in the back of his throat and sits back beside you.

“He doesn’t. You should eat,” he encourages, fingers of his free hand resting against your forehead. “You were out cold when I found you.”

Its then, when you see the sheer size of his hand that you’re reminded you’re in his bed, in his home. This _man_ —who sure, you knew when you were a kid—has you in his domain, under his thumb. And you’re vulnerable, possibly injured.

He must sense your hesitation, because your name leaves his lips. “Everything okay?”

A strange emotion washes over you, has you nodding in silence and reaching for the bowl. He takes a pillow from beside you and sits it on your lap—a makeshift table. “Be careful, it’s hot.” His smile is feline, eyes the same shining gold that kept you glued to him as a child.

“Thank you.” You smile sheepishly, but your tummy growls again, and you both laugh, anxiety leaving you in huffs and chuckles.

“Gods, you really scared the shit outta me, ya know?” He sighs, running a hand over his face as you blow gently on a spoonful. “I heard you were back in town, but I had no idea I’d find you so close to home; passed out, no less. What were you doin’ by the river, anyway?”

“I,” you start, wondering if its odd that he was technically the reason you were there. That you fell. You take a spoonful of food instead, the meat and vegetables melting in your mouth, the herbs and spices lighting up your tastebuds. “Kuroo, this is delicious!” You gasp, eyes widening at him, mouth still full. Charming.

He laughs, “You sound surprised.”

You are; of _course_ you are.

You wouldn’t tell him that, though.

“Are you gonna eat, too?” You ask, scooping more into your mouth, your stomach fluttering. It feels almost as if you’re dreaming, as if you’re gonna wake up back in your grandmother’s house, his handsome face and homely cottage a fading memory.

“Eh, I’m not too hungry for food.” He says, looking at you with an odd fondness. It heats your cheeks and has you pressing your thighs together, scooping some more soup into your mouth.

You glance back up to the tapestry and the cat’s eyes are closed.

-

Hands are on your shoulders, shaking you awake.

But when did you fall asleep?

Kuroo calls your name almost harshly, and you have to fight to pry your eyes open, his blurry silhouette coming into your field of vision. “Thank the gods,” he breathes, his forehead falling to your shoulder. “I thought you’d began crossing.” He envelops you then, holds you in his strong arms.

“What…?” Your mouth is like cotton, eyes wanting to shut again. He leans away from you, stands, starts to pull the blankets from your body.

“You’ve gotta get up, walk around a bit.” He says quickly, his face unreadable as you blink away sleep, rub your eyes and—

“Kuroo,” your voice is small, eyes wide as you stare at your shaking hands, the translucent tips of your fingers. “I’m—”

He takes your hands in his, swears under his breath. “It’s too late. The food wasn’t enough.” His brows are knotting together, eyes practically slits.

“What does that _mean_?” Your voice trembles, and you’re snatching your hands away, pulling your feet up under your butt—

Your feet.

Where the _fuck_ are your feet?

Tears well in your eyes, and he hushes you, sits back down, his hands rubbing your knees.

“You need to listen to me, okay?” He says, taking a deep breath. But you’re frantic, sniveling, disappearing right before your eyes. “You’re dead.” He says, and you suck in a breath, eyes going wide, meeting his in terror. “You’re dead, and this is the spirit realm, but you’re passing over. I thought I could keep you here longer, but—”

“I’m dead?” You think back to the scrub, your ankle twisting, you passing out.

“You slipped, hit your head, I...” He trails off, his own sadness pouring over you, melting into your confusion.

But none of this makes sense. If you’re dead, how come he’s there with you? Even your sister remembered him, it’s not like you made him up; he’s real, he’s right there, he’s touching you—

“We have to do something.” He frowns, clenching his teeth. “I need more _time_ ; we need more _time_ —”

“Are you a spirit as well? How did you—how were we friends? We touched, and you hugged me, and—”

“I’m not a ghost. I’m,” he pauses, glances away from you. “I’m a… I’m a yokai. A nekomata.” He breathes, trying to calm himself down, eyes falling to the floor. “I was… I was supposed to lure your sister and you away from your family, get you lost, but I… didn’t want to. I couldn’t.”

“A… yokai.” A monster, a demon.

“Yes.” He says, guilt all over his face.

You’ve heard the stories, the lore. A glance up to the cat tapestry has it’s back to you, a chill rolling down your spine. “Prove it.” You urge.

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He closes his eyes, and reopens them, his pupils cat-like slits; twin tails rise up behind him, swaying slowly—black and sleek like the hair on his head. “Is this enough, or do I need to go full cat?” He asks, fangs glinting in the firelight when he grins.

There’s a pause.

“Back then, you were gonna kill us?” Your voice is shaky, heart rate doubling as he weighs up your question, golden eyes darting down to your fading hands, then up to your face.

“But I didn’t.” He admits. You gasp, panic peaking, but you can’t move. Fight, flight or freeze. Apparently if the brain senses no hope, that third option is all it has left.

He senses the panic, clenches his jaw and gently takes his hands from your knees, giving you some space.

“D-did you lure me here?” You ask, the words spilling out.

“I didn’t, I promise.” He says evenly, and it helps that he’s not getting worked up, that he’s explaining things for you, even with you fading away right before his eyes. “Look, you can leave this realm, pass over and be reborn—or whatever you think happens— it's your choice. Or… you can stay here with me.” He puts a hand to his chest, gestures around the cabin with the other.

“I can… stay?” You ask, your voice a whisper.

“Yes. I can make you like me. We can live here together, you can watch your family grow old from the shadows, take the form of a cat. You— _fuck_ —you need to believe that I didn’t _hurt_ you—I would never.” He leans towards you again, eyes glassy, a hand on your shoulder, the other drawing a thumb down your cheek. “If anything, I’m trying to keep you here.”

You take a deep breath, unable to look away from those yellow eyes. “How?”

“Huh?” He blinks, brows quirking.

“How do I stay? How do I stop fading away?” You ask, with more determination than you thought you had left.

He sighs, and leans away, hand from your shoulder falling to your knee. “Th-there’s food—which you already ate, so that didn’t work. The blankets you were covered in were woven by a witch, but—”

“Kuroo, hurry.” You urge, lifting a hand for him to see.

His nostrils flare. “I can make you like me with a bite, but… you’ll only stay sane if we’re lovers.”

“Sane?”

“You’ll go feral, hunters will come.” He sighs, running a hand over his face, pushing his hair back. It flops back down to cover his right eye.

But that shouldn’t distract you from what he just said.

“Are… Kuroo, are you telling me I need to have sex with you?” You ask, voice small, your eyes darting away from him, over to where he discarded the woven blankets and pelts in a pile on the floor.

He sighs. “When you say that, it sounds like—”

“Like an excuse to fuck me?” Tentatively, you glance back up at him, see the look of shock on his face.

“Whoa! Hey now—”

“Because this sounds crazy, I—I don’t even know you—” You cut yourself off when you notice your hands are gone. Gone. Completely see through.

He gently takes a wrist, pulls it away from your field of vision. “We don’t need to. You can completely cross over to the afterlife, you can be gone, it’s okay.” He smiles sadly, a thumb gently running over your pulse point. It’s soothing.

“But I—”

You don’t _want_ to be gone.

There’s a moment where you just look at him, at the forked tail behind his back, the slits in his eyes. He’s not human. Yet he’s gone through the food, the blankets, and he’s even talking about turning you. To keep you with him. To keep you _alive_.

“I don’t wanna rush you, but your calves are gone.” He says, and there’s a hint of humour there, a throwback to the kid you used to play with, the one that had no issues making you smile when you were sad.

“But you’ll be stuck with me. Forever.” You say, unable to look away from him despite the embarrassment of it all.

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? I’ve cared about you. _Always_. I… I didn’t come back after the festival because I was aging so rapidly. I was just a kitten back then, but in those months after, I came of age. I was an adult. A big cat. It didn’t feel right that you were still growing so slowly. So… _humanely_. So, I waited. And evidently, I waited too long, because you left the mountains. You went to the city. It’s someone else’s domain, I couldn’t get there.”

You look down at your disappearing knees, back up at his face. “I,” you start, heat blooming over your face, your ears. This is it. You’re gonna do it. “I can’t grab you to pull you closer—”

But it’s all the invitation he needs.

He's on you, his large body covering yours. “I’m gonna bite you first,” he breathes against your neck, hands either side of your face. “Just so you can get your limbs back.” There’s a slight chuckle in his tone, and you find yourself relaxing into him.

“How thoughtful of you.” You breathe back, rolling your eyes. He pulls away, and you see them, his feline fangs. Long and sharp. Perfect canines.

“I’d like you to consent.” He says, and his pupils have blown wide, a heady blush colouring his cheeks, fingernails growing—long and sharp— gently pressing into your skin.

“Bite me, Kuroo.” You breathe back. You want to hug him, to pull him close, but your arms are heavy, and you can’t even move your legs. “Please, Kuroo.”

He groans, and leans closer, his scent—sandalwood, spices, and earthy notes—intoxicating you, your lashes fluttering shut as his hot mouth presses over your pulse point. He hesitates, and a needy moan drifts from your lips, then his hot wet tongue slides over your skin; just as the shiver rolls down your spine: _pain_.

Your eyes shoot open and you tense up, but he holds you fast, the stinging quickly morphing into something else, something… primal.

It’s like a breath of fresh air, like a hit of cocaine. Suddenly you’re moving, fingers digging into the fabric at his chest, strength you didn’t know you possessed throwing him off you; then you’re straddling him, panting.

“Hot,” you breathe, tearing your dress off, drunk on the adrenaline pouring through your veins, the power he’s given you.

“No kiddin’.” He licks his lips, cracks a smirk, taloned fingers drawing up your naked sides.

“I feel hot, Kuroo.”

“Testurou.” He corrects you, his voice a purr. “Call me Tetsurou.”

You take a lungful of air, and it _tastes_ amazing. His fingers on your skin has your thighs quaking, everything you look at is crisper, brighter, more saturated; you can hear the rushing of water—is that the river? The one you died at?

“This too,” he breathes, sitting up, nipping at the strap of your bra. That elicits a moan from you as well, eyes slamming shut, head tossing back. “Take it off.” He orders, and you’re reaching for the clip, shaky fingers unable to properly unclasp it—

So, you tear it.

He laughs, and you lean down to kiss him, your eager tongue sliding into his mouth, tasting him, savouring him. This man— _no_ , this demon. This Yokai. Your lover.

Your equal. 

“Tetsu,” you moan, pulling away from him. “It’s too much,” you’re panting, too hot, overstimulated.

“Feels good, though, don’t it?” He grins, a hand moving down to cup your mound over your underwear.

Even that's too much.

He rubs at your clit and you buckle, arms wrapping around his shoulders, a sob in your throat.

A pained groan leaves his lips. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“Fuck me, Tetsu.” You demand breathlessly. “I n—I need you to fuck me, fill me up. Mark me; make me _yours_.”

A heady groan and he’s flipping you over with a growl, kissing at that sore spot on your neck, licking it as his hands tear at your plain cotton panties, as he pushes his pants down. You’re repeating his name like a mantra, chanting, digging and clawing at his back, ankles crossing behind his ass, shamelessly thrusting your hips into the air in hopes of—

“Mine.” He grinds out, then he’s fucking you. Not getting you ready, or slowly sliding in, but fucking into you at a pace that suggests he’s been waiting too long. That he can’t bear to wait any longer. Your name leaves his lips and you look up at him, completely enamoured, completely his.

“Yours.” You agree, your heart rate slowing, the heat subsiding, the shakiness in your fingers stopping. Like being underwater after jumping from too high. Calamity be damned, this is wonderful. Tranquillity taking over, washing over you in a wave of clarity. “Yours.” You say again in a whisper, pulling him down, your lips meeting his.

His kiss is passionate, hot, and wet, and messy, his hands groping at the flesh of your thighs, pressing your knees up, up, up, until they’re dangling beside your ears.

“Gonna fuck you silly.” He warns, pulling away from your lips. “Gonna fill you up. You’re mine. _Mine_.”

“Yours!” You gasp, that coil deep in your belly tightening with each harsh press of his hips, each kiss of his cockhead to your thirsty cervix.

His bed creaks beneath you, headboard banging against the wall, the sound almost drowned out by the moans and gasps and pants tearing from your throat as he fucks you. A hand wraps around your neck, fingers drawing through the blood at the bite.

“So… pretty.” He moans, eyes half-lidded, watching his fingers as he draws the blood down your clavicle.

But you’re close. _So_ close. “Tetsu— _fuck_ , I’m—”

“Wait,” he hisses, two fingers sliding into your mouth, pressing against your tongue. The metallic taste of blood fills your senses and you look up at those golden eyes as they glare down at you, sweat sticking his sable hair to his forehead. “Wait for me.” He breathes.

You want to complain, and you try and shake your head, but all that comes out is a wanton cry, tears pricking your eyelids as you do your best to suck his fingers, push back the urge to dry heave around them.

“Doin’…” he breathes, gritting his teeth, cock sliding against all of those delicious spots inside you. “So _fucking_ good—”

But the praise, his deep thrusts, and the fingers are all too much. You’re clenching around his cock, begging to milk it, eyes slamming shut as your mouth hangs open in a soundless cry, your orgasm shaking you to your core.

“Fuck, _shit_.” He spits, then he’s stilling, a long groan floating from his lips as his eyes roll back, cock fucking into you in short little jerks as he paints your insides white, then collapses on top of you. “Gods.” He breathes, kissing and licking at the blood at your neck, then pressing his painted lips to your own, colouring them crimson.

But you’re already floating out of existence, your eyes sliding shut in exhaustion, fingers weaving into his soft, soft hair, his name leaving your lips one last time, before you float off to sleep.

-

Kuroo lets you sleep. You’ve done so well, after all.

You did well coming back home for your grandmother’s funeral, despite your hatred for the woman. Did well spending time with your ungrateful family. You did especially well deciding to look for him; because, even if you don’t want to admit it, that’s the reason you slipped on that mossy rock, the reason you fell.

He wanders down the rocky riverbank, surveys his cabin from the outside, a grin on his face. Fuck, he waited so long to get you here. So fucking long.

Did you really think you were going to get to leave?

Did you really think he’d let you?

He’s glad you’ll never find out what really happened here. Glad he’ll never have to show you his true colours. Truth be told, you didn’t die when you slipped. Sure, you were knocked out, but you were breathing.

It wasn’t until he dragged you into the rapids, held you under until your lungs filled with water, his eyes glowing golden, fangs bared, that you really died. 

But you’ll never know, will you?

And he gets to keep you forever.


End file.
